The Good Of The Country
by Jo. T
Summary: A parody of a Big Block of Cheese Day, as we follow the Senior Staff through their appointments. With a MASH crossover. COMPLETE


TITLE: The Good Of The Country AUTHOR: Jo T GENRE: Comedy RATING: G SUMMARY: Bit of a M*A*S*H crossover, this follows the happenings of one of the White House's Big Block of Cheese Days FEEDBACK: jo_2me@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: Much as I would love them to be mine, the characters alas do not belong to me, I'm simply borrowing them to have a little fun  
THE GOOD OF THE COUNTRY  
  
"What's on the cards for today, Leo, another Big Block of Cheese Day? Really, has it been that long since the last one?"  
  
"No Sir, it hasn't. But Mr. President, it doesn't hurt to let people believe that this is a democracy where what they say about the. smaller issues, actually counts for something." President Josiah Bartlet grinned. He knew how much the Senior Staff relished Big Block of Cheese Day and how they considered it to be both an important and an integral part of their responsibilities.  
  
"They'll all be done in time to meet the vets. Right?" The President was referring to the visit of some Korean War Veterans, all of whom served at the 4077th M*A*S*H Unit.  
  
"The last cheese appointment is with Sam at 1.30, the vets thing doesn't start until 2.00, and I'm sure he'll have managed to street 'em with their pen by that time."  
  
"Good. Got any interesting causes today?"  
  
"I think we may get a little fun later, if that's what you mean, Mr. President."  
  
"I'll leave you to break the good news." The President and Leo exchanged a gleeful look with one another, knowing the chaos that is a guaranteed by- product of Big Block of Cheese Day.  
  
Leo McGarry, the White House Chief of Staff, walked into the Mural room, where all the Senior Staff had gathered. He began:  
  
"Today heralds the day that we commemorate Andrew Jackson and the day he bought a two tonne block of cheese into the White House foyer." Leo strode around the room, where all the Senior Staff members sat. Leo's slight form covered the ground quickly, while the staffers merely looked on.  
  
"Say it isn't so." Toby Ziegler, Communications Director muttered as Leo continued with his narrative.  
  
Leo's deputy, Joshua Lyman was doing his utmost to prevent his head from crashing down on the table, he had, not an hour previously, stepped of a plane from Utah, where he had been involved in a series of gruelling meetings with some influential lobby groups, in whom he had very little interest. These meetings had included some late night and all night sessions and public meetings, affording him no time whilst on the trip to catch any sleep there.  
  
Press Secretary, C.J. Cregg, sat with he long legs crossed and a note pad resting on them. She occupied herself with the pad and a pen, creating something so artistically brilliant that it would put the Grand Masters to shame.  
  
Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director was left with nothing to do but sit back, drum his fingers on the table and employ the highest levels of self-control amidst attempts not to join his boss in offering wise-cracks and quips.  
  
"And here," concluded Leo, while handing out slips of paper, supplied to him by his aide, Margaret, "is a list of everyone's cheese appointments." Toby and Sam exchanged looks of raised eyebrows, while C.J. prodded Josh, whose arm, whilst supporting his head with his hand, gradually slid away, bringing him closer and closer to the table. Josh sat up with a sudden jolt.  
  
"Huh? What? What's this?" he said as he reached in his dazed state, for the piece of paper that had been placed in front of him.  
  
"Your cheese appointments." Leo prompted.  
  
"Cheese? Oh no, Leo. Not another crackpot day. I'm too tired." Josh let his head crash onto the table.  
  
"And don't forget," Leo added, "that you're all meeting the Korean war vets with the President. Press meeting and photo opp. at 2.00 and then a reception in the Oval Office afterwards."  
  
"Well, at least there's something at least that's remotely productive and worthwhile coming out of today."  
  
"I'm glad you feel that way, Toby." Leo said, all innocence, "'Cos before your first cheese appointments arrive, you and Sam will be writing the President's remarks." Before anyone had the opportunity to complain, Leo instructed them: "Now get out of here, all of you, and go do whatever thing it is you have to do before your cheese appointments arrive." Sam, Toby and C.J. all stood up and left the Mural Room with their list of cheese appointments clutched tightly in their hands. Josh remained at the table with his head down. Leo went over to him and gently swatted his Deputy with a rolled up file. Josh sat up with a start.  
  
"Huh? What? What's this?" he asked, as he reached out to grab the piece of paper that sat on the table in front of him.  
  
"Your cheese appointments. Haven't we done this already?"  
  
"Cheese? Not another crackpot day, Leo. I mean, really." Leo batted Josh once more with the file and groaned. Josh scanned the list.  
  
"I think you must have got my list mixed up with C.J.'s. I got all the animal ones. I don't do animals. I don't like animals and animals don't like me. I get beat up by Donna's roommates cats with monotonous regularity."  
  
"That couldn't be because you get drunk and then go round there and pass out on top of the poor things, could it?" Josh scowled. "Just as well you don't have any meetings with cat people, then."  
  
"Close enough, Leo, if that says what I think it says."  
  
"What do you think it says?"  
  
"Could it be at all possible, that that, right there," Josh indicated a word on the page, "says duck-billed platypus?" Leo leaned over, reading the word to which Josh was pointing.  
  
"Why, yes it does."  
  
"And that there, that says stick insects, right?"  
  
"Why, yes it does." Leo smiled.  
  
"Please Leo, tell me that this list is not genuine, it's just you having a little fun at my expense and you have a proper list with some less ridiculous groups on it. I mean I know some of the groups with whom you want us to meet are a bit, what's the word? Oh yeah, nuts. But if this list is genuine, it really takes the cake."  
  
"But it is real. Get over it. Now be gone, and go do some prep. or something."  
  
"What do you want me to do? Go read a book on platypuses, platypi or whatever hell the plural of the dumb-looking animal happens to be?"  
  
"Well it's an idea. Go Josh, before I get Donna in here and make her forcibly remove you."  
  
"For the love of the Lord, not Donna." Josh stood up, resigned, and walked out of the Mural Room and back to his office, where he all but fell into his chair.  
  
"Stick insects?!" Josh mumbled, then he bought his head down onto his desk where he promptly drifted off to sleep.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"So. Toby. What are we gonna say?" Sam asked for the umpteenth time.  
  
"Sam? What time are your cheese appointments." Toby asked innocently.  
  
"I got one at 9.00, one at noon, and one at 1.30. You?"  
  
"10.00 and 11.30."  
  
"Oh." Sam sounded genuinely disappointed. "That means we only have a little time to work on this together."  
  
"Oh dear." Toby said very quietly, although his lack of sincerity passed by, entirely unnoticed by Sam."  
  
"You got any interesting cheese appointments?"  
  
"That's a contradiction in terms. They're cheese appointments, Sam, it is inherent in their very nature that they are anything but interesting."  
  
"So. Have you got any interesting cheese appointments?"  
  
"No, Sam. I don't." Toby growled. There was a temporary break in the conversation.  
  
"Well."  
  
"Well, what, Sam?"  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me if I have any interesting cheese appointments?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Why not?"  
  
"Because, Sam, I don't care."  
  
"Oh. Can I tell you anyway?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I don't care."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"Does it mean that you'll shut up?"  
  
"We could try it and see." Sam said, hopefully.  
  
"Somehow, I'm very cynical about that. I think I'll take my chances and just not ask."  
  
"I got a meeting with some vegetable people."  
  
"Yet he tells me, anyway." Toby groaned.  
  
"I mean vegetables. I also have a meeting with some footpath campaigners and a group who complain that children's television is both an adverse and corrupt influence."  
  
"How nice." Toby put his head in his hands and took a deep sigh.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Carol!" C.J. Cregg bellowed for her aide.  
  
"Yes, C.J.?" Carol said as she arrived in the doorway of C.J.'s office.  
  
"What's an android?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"What's an android?"  
  
"How do you spell that?" Carol produced a notepad and a pen in order to write down the correct spelling of the word to go off and find a definition.  
  
"A.N.D.R.O.I.D."  
  
"That's an 'l' not a 'Y'?"  
  
"Didn't I just say 'I'?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then it's an 'I'. Look, could you just go and find out what one is."  
  
"Sure." Carol left to go and look up what an android was for her boss.  
  
There was a knock on the door. C.J. looked up.  
  
"Sam? What can I do for you?"  
  
"C.J."  
  
"What'cha doing Sam?"  
  
"Toby threw me out of the bullpen."  
  
"What? Come in here. Tell me why." Sam entered C.J.'s office and parked himself in a handy chair. "Why'd he throw you out?"  
  
"Big Block of Cheese Day. I'm not allowed to go back in there until my first cheese appointment arrives."  
  
"But what did you do? He can't have thrown you out just because it's cheese day, he should be after Andrew Jackson for that."  
  
"I said I liked it." Sam stated plainly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Big Block of Cheese Day."  
  
"Get out!"  
  
"I'm sorry, C.J.?" Sam asked blankly.  
  
"Get out, freak boy. Go and annoy Josh, or something. I'm sure he's in need of a good sleep and listening to this nonsense will certainly grant him some shut eye."  
  
C.J. positioned herself behind Sam's chair and started prodding him. She continued the bombardment until she had successfully achieved her goal, chasing a fleeting Sam out of her office and into the hallway.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Josh!" Sam called, as he approached his friend's office. "Josh!"  
  
"Shh, Sam. Be quiet. Josh is sleeping." Donna Moss chided.  
  
"No he isn't." A sleepy voice came from within Josh's office, emanating from behind a large pile of folders. Donna glared at Sam with a look that was colder than ice.  
  
"Josh!" Sam walked into Josh's office. The only trace of Josh was a disembodied voice and a mop of unruly hair that protruded from behind the mountain of folders.  
  
"What do you want, Sam?" Josh rubbed his eyes wearily with his right hand.  
  
"Toby's thrown me out of the bullpen, then C.J. threw me out of her office."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"'Cos I like Big Block of Cheese Day."  
  
"Sam; are you feeling alright?"  
  
"I feel fine, Josh, thank you."  
  
"O.K. Well, it is now my turn."  
  
"I don't understand, your turn to what?"  
  
"Get out, Sam."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Get out. I'm tired, I'm cranky and you're a nerd. Get out."  
  
"But."  
  
"Get out, Sam."  
  
"But."  
  
"Get out." Sam just stood in the doorway, unable to totally comprehend that his best friend was joining the majority in throwing him out of his office. "Donna!" Josh called.  
  
"What, Josh?"  
  
"Get rid of Sam. He won't go."  
  
"Sam." Donna pushed Sam into the hall. This was happening far too often in one day for Sam's liking.  
  
"Fine then. I'll go outside. Kill a little time there." Sam walked.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
Sam stood outside the White House, his hands in his pants pockets. As he stood there looking out, he was approached by a smartly dressed man, who looked, but for the bright tie (Hawaiian style), very sober. He was an elderly man, though his gait was sprightly and but for his White Hair he could have been the same age as Toby.  
  
"Hi." The man said, coming up behind Sam. "It's a nice morning, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah." Sam replied.  
  
"I'm here for a thing this afternoon. I arrived a little early."  
  
"What time's your thing?"  
  
"2.00pm."  
  
"You one of the vets.?"  
  
"Yeah. I thought seen as I tried to contact this place so much during the war, I'd come and soak up the atmosphere a little and curse Harry S. Truman."  
  
"You wrote? From Korea?"  
  
"I wrote, I phoned, I sent telegrams. You name it, I think I gave it a try. Today I get to meet the real thing, though no doubt we'll spend most of the afternoon locked in a room with his minions, but that's the Presidency for you. I have got a few questions I'd like to ask the President, though."  
  
"Just so's you know, I'm one of those minions and President Bartlet would never do that. He takes this sort of thing very seriously. He's never seen military action but he understands. He understands because he is the real thing." Sam had expected the man to look a little abashed. Instead, he smiled and held out his hand to the younger man.  
  
"Benjamin Franklin Pierce." Sam shook the proffered hand.  
  
"Sam Seaborn, minion and Deputy Communications Director. You were a doctor?"  
  
"Yeah. I ranked at Captain. They call me Hawkeye."  
  
"Hey, like 'The Last of the Mohicans'." Hawkeye Pierce nodded, impressed.  
  
"Only book my father ever read!" Sam smiled. "Forgive me asking, Sam, can I call you Sam?" Sam nodded the affirmative. "If you're such an important minion, what are you doing out here at what must be the beginning of a very busy day for you?"  
  
"I was temporarily requested to leave."  
  
"I'm not even going to pretend that I understand that."  
  
"We have this thing, Big Block of Cheese Day."  
  
"That sounds a little. odd."  
  
"Yeah. It's our Chief of Staff, it's his thing. Every so often he allows members of the public from groups we could generally care less about, into the White House, to try and round up a little support, I've not yet worked out whom it is vying for support, them or us. We do it in the spirit of Andrew Jackson, who would get a two tonne hunk of cheese and dump it in the White House foyer, in order for all those who were hungry to come and eat. It's just a way of showing that the White House actually belongs to the people and is there primarily to serve them."  
  
"So why'd they throw you out?"  
  
"Request that I leave temporarily."  
  
"It's the same difference. Why?"  
  
"Because I like it, if I'm honest. All the other Senior Staff see it as a pointless waste of time. I admire the spirit. It's idealistic, but I think we need a little idealism every now and then." Hawkeye nodded.  
  
"Ideals are all well and good, but surely responding to the people would be better. Whilst I was in Korea it really didn't seem the government so much as remembered us, and I don't just mean those of us in the M*A*S*H units, I mean the kids that they sent to the front. The kids they sent to die, and that's what they were, kids. I remember one boy, fifteen, I think, stole his brother's birth certificate so he could go and be a soldier. Came to us in a real bad way. A friend of mine had died that day, I didn't want the same to happen to that kid, so I had him arrested and sent home. It always seems to be the one with the blond hair and the blue eyes, and they're all so young, they could have all their life ahead of them. The government and the army took that away."  
  
"Did you see much of the front?"  
  
"We were so far forward that we were practically at the back of the front." He paused. "Tell me, you ever heard a bomb go off?" Sam shook his head. "A grenade?" Again, Sam shook his head. "A gun?" Sam hesitated a moment, then nodded.  
  
"Rosslyn." It was Pierce's turn to nod.  
  
"How did it make you feel, Sam?"  
  
"My best friend was shot."  
  
"Forget the outcome for the moment, what did the event feel like. The atmosphere, everything that was going on?"  
  
"It was chaos. I was scared. Everybody panicked. There was an explosion of noise, the gunfire, the yells. There were lights everywhere too. Lights from the fire of the guns, lights from the emergency vehicles. No one seemed to know what to do."  
  
"Imagine living like that, not just for a few minutes, not just for a few hours, but every day for several years. Imagine all that and being somewhere far from home with people whom you've only known for a short while. Don't get me wrong, there was respite. Sometimes it was so quiet. It wasn't a nice place to be but the people made it bearable, they made the difference. I want the President to be aware that even a 'police action' has its consequences."  
  
"I can assure you that President Bartlet is fully aware of that."  
  
"He a good man?"  
  
"The best."  
  
"The real thing?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Your friend, was he O.K.?"  
  
"Yeah, he's fine now." Sam paused momentarily. "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm going to have to go. My first cheese appointment will be waiting."  
  
"I'll see you later, Sam."  
  
"You can count on it." They smiled at one another and shook hands once more, then Sam re-entered the building.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Hi. I'm Josh Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff." Josh introduced himself to the man in the brown plaid suit and the woman in the interestingly colored, swampy green mohair jumper. "So, what can I do for you guys?"  
  
"We're here to talk to you about the famous duck-billed platypus." Said the man. "I'm Clive Blanchard and this is Andrea Pryce."  
  
"And you're talking about platypi?"  
  
"Platypuses." The woman corrected.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Platypuses. The plural of platypus is platypuses."  
  
"Surely not."  
  
"Oh, it is."  
  
"O.K. And what do I care about platypuses?"  
  
"They're very rare."  
  
"We want to save them."  
  
"O.K. What do I care about saving platypuses?"  
  
"They're dying out. They could become extinct." Josh rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then rested his elbows on the table and made his index fingers into a steeple.  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't platypi."  
  
"Platypuses."  
  
"Whatever. Aren't they actually native to the Antipodes?"  
  
"Yes, but."  
  
"But what? What do you expect us to do? Send them aid parcels? Declare war on Australia for being mean to some dumb-looking animals that are incapable of making up their mind as to whether they're a bird, a fish or a mammal?"  
  
"That's hardly an accurate description of something that constitutes such an important part of the earth's eco-system."  
  
"For the love of everything holy, there really is nothing you can do, we can do, whatever. Have a pen and thank you for your time." Josh offered each of them a White House pen.  
  
"You're supposed to listen to what we have to say, hear us out."  
  
"Yeah, but this is too stupid." Josh eyed the people who sat on the far side of his desk. "Donna!" Josh called.  
  
"Yes." She appeared.  
  
"Could you please show these people out? We're done here." He turned to his visitors. You have your pens, right? O.K. thank you for your time, your concern has been duly noted."  
  
"You didn't even."  
  
"Whatever. Donna."  
  
"If you'd like to follow me, I'll show you the way out." Donna led them off and left Josh alone, who sighed.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"And you want money to research mind control? You want to research controlling the human brain with a microchip, essentially making all of the human race robots."  
  
"Androids, actually."  
  
"Really? Anyway, isn't that just a little bit, I don't know. Weird?" This was C.J. Cregg's first cheese meeting and was with one Martin Richards. "Do you not think that it could be a little despotic?"  
  
"Well."  
  
"Imagine what it would have been like if someone like Hitler had gotten hold of one."  
  
"Well, that's the beauty of it, isn't it?"  
  
"It is?"  
  
"Sure it is."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"It's been invented a good fifty years after Hitler was around, so there really is very little chance of him getting a hold of one."  
  
"Oh yes." C.J. smiled and raised her eyebrows. "And how do you intend to fit microchips to all those people?"  
  
"Attach it directly to their brains."  
  
"What? And you don't think that people might get a little suspicious when the suggestion that they have brain surgery comes from entirely out of the blue. Or when the rest of the world is wandering around with bandages on their head?"  
  
"Well, obviously there are still a few things that need a little work."  
  
"You don't say?"  
  
"But that's why we need the money."  
  
"To cut people's heads open?"  
  
"When you put it like that it sounds really gauche and gruesome."  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"No; it's scientific progress. It's a necessary step forward. If I could leave some literature with you for perusal later. I understand that the whole concept can be a little mind-blowing to begin." C.J. smiled weakly.  
  
"Thank you very much for your time, Martin. Here's your pen."  
  
C.J. and Martin did a swap, the pen for the literature. It wasn't difficult to tell who drew the longer straw. Then Martin left and C.J. heaved a huge sigh of relief.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Good morning, Chuck. Sorry I'm a little late. What can I do for you?"  
  
"I'm from the Footpaths in America Association." Chuck Hoffman announced. He was small and portly and wore a bottle green jersey pullover and a pair of brown corduroy pants. His dark brown hair was gelled back. Sam guessed that he was in his 40's, though it was difficult to tell.  
  
"The Footpaths in America Association? I don't believe I've ever heard of you. Perhaps you could tell me a little about your cause."  
  
"We campaign for the improvement in quality and the maintenance of public footpaths, and establishing new footpaths throughout the country."  
  
"Surely maintenance is a municipal concern, rather than the national government."  
  
"Local government doesn't care."  
  
"Really? It should."  
  
"That's precisely why we felt the need to bring our cause to you."  
  
"How long has your group been around, Chuck?"  
  
"We've been politically active for a little over fifteen years, now. That was mainly on a municipal level, it's only the past six that we've been targeting more of a national audience."  
  
"Six? Six months?"  
  
"Six years, Mr. Seaborn."  
  
"Any success?"  
  
"Have you heard of us before today?"  
  
"No. I said not earlier."  
  
"Well, I think you just answered your own question there."  
  
"You got any literature you could leave with us for us to review later?" Chuck placed presentation wallet on the table in front of Sam. "Thank you. I guarantee that this will receive due consideration."  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"No, really. It's an important cause that you and your group feel strongly about, and I'd like for us to consider your cause. Here, have a pen." Sam reached out and grabbed a pen, then handed it over to Chuck.  
  
"You really mean you'll consider us?" Chuck sounded surprised.  
  
"Sure. You have my word."  
  
"Thanks. You're a good man, Mr. Seaborn." Sam shook hands with the man and smiled as he left.  
  
"I really like Big Block of Cheese Day. It feels like we can really make a big difference."  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Mr. Rogers." Toby yelled. "Are you trying to tell me that you want the White House to put a wildlife protection order on grass?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But grass?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Ziegler. Grass."  
  
"May I be so bold as to ask why?"  
  
"Because grass is a living entity, just as we are. It plays an important role in our life."  
  
"But grass? I mean, are you totally nuts?"  
  
"Grass is important."  
  
"So you said. You guys will want to put protection orders on pebbles next."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Toby."  
  
"Mr. Ziegler, and you think it's me that's being ridiculous?"  
  
"Why would we need to put protection orders on pebbles, they're not living entities."  
  
"We don't and some 'rock' group will be in here yelling at the next 'what- lost-cause-should-we-pretend-to-care-about-at-this-particular-moment-in- time' day, crying discrimination."  
  
"That's a very bitter attitude to have, Mr. Ziegler."  
  
"I'm a very bitter man, Mr. Rogers, and my attitude is not improved by obsessives like you who come in, talk about the 'natural rights' of grass, and expect me to care."  
  
"You're not an outdoorsman, Toby?"  
  
"There's being an outdoorsman - and it's Mr. Ziegler - and appreciating the rights of grass."  
  
"So you're admitting that grass has rights?"  
  
"No, I', saying that you need to go see a therapist for thinking it does. Now, have a pen and get out." A pen was thrown in Mr. Rogers' direction, as he stood up to go for the door.  
  
"Can I leave you a pamphlet?"  
  
"No."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"I would thank you for coming in to see us, but to be honest, I think that both of us know that I really couldn't care less. Mr. Rogers."  
  
Rogers left Toby's office and closed the door quietly after him.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"C.J. great of you to see us." "You're the calendar people, yes?" "Indeed, we are. I'm Iris Major and this is Daisy Chayne." C.J. snickered. "I'm sorry." C.J. apologised, but with little sincerity. Two women in front of her were smartly dressed, both in pin-striped skirt suits, with their hair piled up on their head.  
  
"We think that the calendar is wrong."  
  
"Wrong?"  
  
"Yes. Wrong."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"Some months are longer than others."  
  
"O.K. You think that the calendar is wrong because some months are longer than others?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But it's been around since, like the Romans."  
  
"Its age doesn't validate it, it simply makes in anachronistic."  
  
"Anachronistic?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"We have a proposal to reform it."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We propose changing the structure of the calendar month. We propose that the number of days in a year be divided by a number so that an integer is obtained, then the number of days in a month will all be equal."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"O.K. You've really not given this a lot of thought, have you?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Well, it seems to me that there's at least one fundamental thing you've forgotten to take into account."  
  
"Oh yes. What's that?"  
  
"Leap years." C.J. replied smugly.  
  
The two women put their heads together, while C.J. sat watching and waiting."  
  
"O.K., so perhaps there are a couple of things that we overlooked."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Perhaps we could do a little work and then get back to you at a later date, when we've ironed out all the creases."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"Thanks, C.J. You know, it really is great to meet you. Could I possibly have your autograph?"  
  
"Sure." Said C.J. doubtfully.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"You raise a very interesting point there, Ms. Beckman. But really, what could you possibly have against Barney? I mean, he's a big purple dinosaur, for pete's sake."  
  
"Precisely my point, Sam."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"A purple dinosaur - it's hardly realistic. I mean, a purple dinosaur? Number 1, dinosaurs aren't purple, and number 2, dinosaurs are extinct."  
  
"Well, number 1, a purple dinosaur is less likely to scare little kids and number 2, it's not real!!!"  
  
"Again, my point exactly! He's not real. It fills children's minds with delusional ideas and only provides them with severe disappointment when they find out that they never stand any chance of meeting a real life version of Barney."  
  
"Oh, and filling them with delusions of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are going to help their grasp on reality?!"  
  
"Very clever, Sam."  
  
"It's educational!"  
  
"It's a lie."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"These programmes teach children words that don't exist, too."  
  
"Right. But 'super-dee-dooper', I mean, it's hardly a bad word. I mean, it beats some of the other words that kids today use."  
  
"To be honest, there are other words in other shows that concern me more."  
  
"And they would be?" The woman looked at her notepad that rested on the edge of Sam's desk and read woodenly:  
  
"Poit. Narf. Zoiks. Egad."  
  
"Hey! That's 'Pinkie and the Brain'!"  
  
"You're familiar with this repugnant source of entertainment?"  
  
"Repugnant? It's quick-witted, clean, family entertainment."  
  
"You advocate this puerile claptrap?"  
  
"Yes, I advocate it. I advocate it wholeheartedly."  
  
"And you're the Deputy Communications Director of the White House?"  
  
"Yes I am."  
  
"And you watch this?"  
  
"Yes I do."  
  
"God help this administration." She groaned.  
  
"Forgive me, Ms. Beckman, but I like to relax after a long day at work I like to go back to my apartment and kick back and watch some sport or some cartoons, just something that doesn't require thought or concentration. And yes, it has been known that I specifically watch 'Pinkie and the Brain'.  
  
"Oh for the love of everything on this earth with even the tiniest inkling of common sense. They've booked me an appointment with a member of the Senior Staff, who even as we speak, is regressing back to infancy."  
  
"O.K. Would you like a pen?" Sam put the pen down in front of the woman.  
  
"You'll raise our concerns?"  
  
"Yes I will."  
  
"Even though you don't agree with them."  
  
"It's not about whether I agree with your cause or not. It will be raised with the appropriate authority."  
  
"Thank you." Ms. Beckman shook hands with Sam, but spurned the pen. "I really don't think that that will be necessary. " she said, indicating the offending object. "May I leave you with a written proposal?"  
  
"Certainly." She handed Sam a beautifully presented report. "It was good to meet you. Thank you for your time. You certainly raised some interesting points."  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Ginger!"  
  
"What, Toby?" Ginger responded to the yell that emanated from deep within the confines of Toby's office.  
  
"Cancel my next cheese appointment."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"You can't? What do you mean you can't? I'm telling you to cancel it."  
  
"I can't cancel it, Toby, 'cos the guy's here already."  
  
"Oh goody." Toby said sardonically. He inhaled deeply. "O.K. Send him in. Let's get this thing over and done with!" Ginger turned around and beckoned the man, who was waiting on the far side of the bullpen.  
  
"Mr. Ziegler's ready to see you now, Sir, if you'd like to go in."  
  
"Thank you." The man introduced himself as Richard Burke.  
  
"What do you want, Mr. Burke?"  
  
"We want to make festivals politically correct."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We want to make festivals and holidays accessible to all."  
  
"Aren't they anyway?"  
  
"No, Mr. Ziegler. You're Jewish, yes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you find it wrong that Christmas is celebrated, not to mention numerous pagan festivals; Thanksgiving, Hallowe'en, and Jewish festivals are hardly acknowledged publicly."  
  
"Just because a person doesn't believe in the grounding for Protestant and/or Pagan festivals doesn't mean that they are forbidden from celebrating them."  
  
"Mr. Ziegler, forgive me if this seems impertinent, but you really don't come across as a man who would celebrate the whole thing behind Christmas, and other such festivals."  
  
"I don't tend to support the provenance of Christmas, nor do I appreciate the seasonal ethics associated with the festival, be they goodwill, cheer, being jolly or joyous. I don't support Christmas, but I respect it, because I know that there are many people in the world who draw faith from it and find personal fulfilment, just as I would hope that they would accept my celebrating Jewish festivals or any other holiday that I wish to support."  
  
"But isn't it wrong? It's as if the country pays greater heed to some celebrations than others."  
  
"Mr. Burke, this question may seem blunt, forgive me, but, to which religion do you belong?"  
  
"I'm an agnostic." Toby scoffed."  
  
"You're an agnostic? I don't see how you could come in here and demand greater acknowledgement of religious holidays universally, when you yourself are sitting on the fence, and given your display today of vindictiveness and hypocrisy I hope to God, any God anywhere who may be listening, that the fence on which you sit is a barbed wire one!" Burke sat in front of the Communications Director with his mouth open, completely agog. "If you wouldn't mind closing the door on your way out."  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Johnny, can I be completely honest with you?"  
  
"Josh?"  
  
"No matter how compelling anything you tell me may be, you are never going to convince me that stick insects are simply twigs with legs, that through the grace of God, have been given the ability to breathe, and that quite frankly this is wasting both our time."  
  
"Can I show you my exhibit? I but in a visual aid with me." Johnny remained unperturbed.  
  
"Go ahead." Josh smiled weakly, knowing that his previous spiel, the spiel that he had hoped would grant him a reprieve, had been entirely and unquestionably unsuccessful.  
  
Johnny picked up a small plastic case, which contained what appeared to be a couple of twigs and a smattering of leaves.  
  
"This is Sid and Harry. Sid and Harry, meet Mr. Lyman." Josh rolled his eyes. "This is the man who is going to help us."  
  
"Excuse me for asking, Johnny, but. where are Sid and Harry?"  
  
"That one's Sid," Johnny said, pointing at what could only be described as a twig, "and this. is Harry." He said pointing at another twig as if all had suddenly been revealed.  
  
"Oh." Josh said, though in truth he had been unable to distinguish the sticks from the insects.  
  
"You see, Josh, Sid and Harry are lucky."  
  
"They are?"  
  
"Yes they are."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I rescued them."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"Yes. Do you know what I rescued them from?"  
  
"No, but I'm guessing that you are probably about to tell me."  
  
"Why, yes I am."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"You see, all of Sid and Harry's relatives are all underthreat."  
  
"From what?"  
  
"From you."  
  
"From me?"  
  
"Yes. You."  
  
"How come? I can't even pick the damn things out of the line-up you put in front of me."  
  
"Spot on. You can't spot 'em, so you squish 'em, you and your friends."  
  
"Right. And what do you propose we do about it?"  
  
"Well, I'm glad you asked. I have a couple of suggestions."  
  
"Yes?" Josh raised his eyebrow, he guessed that this would be good.  
  
"Well, the first idea is that we microchip them and people could carry around little alarm systems that will let potential 'squashers' know where they are."  
  
"O.K. Where do you propose we put the microchips?"  
  
"On the stick insects."  
  
"Yeah, but where?"  
  
"On the stick insects."  
  
"O.K. What's the second plan of action?"  
  
"We paint them all bright pink."  
  
"Bright pink? Do you not think that would maybe ruin something, now, what was it again? Oh, I know! Camouflage?!"  
  
"Of course, it means that people will be able to see them and clearly distinguish them so they don't squash 'em."  
  
"So would the things that eat them!"  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Microchips it is then."  
  
"Whatever. Is that all?"  
  
"Yes. No. Wait! Don't I get a pen?"  
  
"Oh. Here." Josh said giving Johnny a pen. "That was very interesting Johnny, thank you for your insight into what can only be described as a particularly unique subject." Johnny left.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Vegetables?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What do you want us to do about vegetables?"  
  
"Well, it's more of a certain type of vegetable, actually."  
  
"Oh yes?"  
  
"Brussel sprouts."  
  
"Brussel sprouts? What could you possibly want the White House to do, as far as brussel sprouts are concerned?"  
  
"We want you to promote them throughout the public sphere; schools; hospitals; clinics."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because they're so damn good for you, is why."  
  
"O.K."  
  
"Can I tell you about them?"  
  
"Sure. Go ahead. What else is Big Block of Cheese Day for?"  
  
And so it began; the lecture on the brussel sprout. Sam never knew that there was so much inane trivia available on the brussel sprout.  
  
As time ticked on Sam began to fidget, as he looked at his watch. It was ten before three.  
  
X ~ X ~ X  
  
"Good afternoon, I'm President Josiah Bartlet, and this, as you may have already deduced, is the oval office." The President shook the hands of each of the three vets. who, after the formal press conference were at the event reception in the Oval Office.  
  
After introducing himself and a quick summary of all the room contained, it was time to meet the Senior Staff.  
  
"This is Leo McGarry, my Chief of Staff." The three vets. shook hands with the Senior Staff as they moved down the line. "This is our Press Secretary, C.J. Cregg, Deputy Chief of Staff, Joshua Lyman, Toby Ziegler, Communications Director and his invisible Deputy, Sam Seaborn." As the vets. finished shaking hands, the President took Toby aside.  
  
"Where's Sam? He missed my speech?"  
  
"Cheese appointment."  
  
"Leo said that he would be able to deal with it and be here in time for the press conference and my speech. You did a good job on that by the way."  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
The door to the Oval Office opened and in walked a particularly jaded looking Sam Seaborn.  
  
"Sam. Good of you to join us at last!" Josiah Bartlet turned to the three vets. "This is Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn."  
  
"Good afternoon." Sam said as he shook the proffered hands.  
  
"Walter O'Reilly."  
  
"Margaret Houlihan."  
  
"We used to call her 'Hotlips'." Hawkeye said. "I was beginning to think that you must have had a better offer."  
  
"No such luck. I was with a guy who wants to take over the world using brussel sprouts."  
  
"Brussel sprouts?"  
  
"Believe me, it's safer not to ask." Hawkeye laughed.  
  
Leo went up behind Sam and took hold of his right elbow, steering him away from Hawkeye.  
  
"Excuse me, Sir, can I steal Sam away from you for a few moments?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Sam, what kept you?"  
  
"A guy with a slightly disturbing fixation with brussel sprouts. He was talking about them for an hour and a half straight."  
  
"An hour and a half? What can you possibly say about a brussel sprout that lasts an hour and half?"  
  
"I really couldn't say, Leo. I'm afraid that my mind froze over after, what? The first two minutes."  
  
"Sam, it's Cheese Day, you're supposed to listen." Leo admonished.  
  
"Come on, Leo. Not even you could pretend to be interested in brussel sprouts for an hour and a half."  
  
"Perhaps you're right. I mean, they look just like baby cabbages, after all."  
  
"Not according to Marvin."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The sprout guy."  
  
"His name is Marvin?"  
  
"Yes. And frankly, Leo, it took all my will-power not to laugh at him. He and the President would get on well, I'm sure."  
  
All Leo could do was laugh at the obvious sufferance he had put upon his Staffer.  
"So, you were a nurse?" Josh asked Margaret.  
  
"Yes, I was."  
  
"What were the conditions like?"  
  
"Long days of gruelling work with few supplies. We would often find ourselves going short of the essentials; blood; silk to sew the wounds; bandages, you name it. It took a huge amount of bartering to get an incubator into the camp so we could do blood cultures in the camp without long delays when we had to send them miles away. At one time or another everything was rationed and there was a time when you could make a fortune per page of a newspaper, as it was sold to burn. I've been trained by the army, I've been associated with the army the whole of my life, my father was a cavalry officer alongside General McArthur, it wasn't that tough for me. It was the other girls I felt sorry for, it was the poor girls who were drafted, thinking they were doing a service for their country."  
  
"Did you ever see the front?"  
  
"I went forward a couple times. Hawkeye, myself and a corpsman spent some time in a M*A*S*H Unit that was right on the battlefield, there doctor had just been killed and they were desperate. We were all scared. The 4077th was right on the 38th Parallel, so some of the time we were directly in the line of enemy fire, hell. Some of the time we even under threat from our own fire."  
  
"Didn't you feel any resentment? That you should be there."  
  
"As I say, I was an army brat. I mean if I'd been cut apart I'm sure by blood would probably have been khaki. The army was my career, I wasn't just a nurse who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
"So, you're beginning to dislike Big Block of Cheese Day, huh, Sam?" Toby said smugly.  
  
"No." Sam was defiant.  
  
"Oh, come on. Your meeting overran by like an hour."  
  
"At least I didn't shout anyone out of my office."  
  
"Well they were stupid causes."  
  
"What were they?" C.J. joined in their conversation.  
  
"Some guy who wanted to get rid of all festivals and holidays, unless all of them, from every religion, culture or pagan group were honoured with equal weight."  
  
"What's wrong with that?"  
  
"Aside from the fact that it's ridiculous, C.J.? He's an agnostic."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"What else did you have, Toby?"  
  
"A guy who wants to save grass. Grass!" Toby tutted.  
  
"Hey! I should have sent one of mine round to you."  
  
"I has quite sufficient thank you, C.J."  
  
"No, it's just 'cos one of mine was called Daisy Chayne." Both Sam and Toby let out a chortle of laughter.  
  
All the vets. were gathered on the sofas with the President, Leo and Josh.  
  
"Mr. President, may I ask you something candidly?"  
  
"Go ahead, Mr. Pierce."  
  
"Do you consider the consequences and effects on all those who go to war in your name and in the name of America?"  
  
"Yes. I do." The President said, grimly. "I consider everything I do with care. I know that there are young men and women who would gladly put their lives on the line to defend this country, and I am wholly aware that they do it in my name. Being Commander in Chief is my most challenging job, Mr. Pierce, and I'm a religious man. I find it impossible that such important decisions should be taken so lightly. There's not a day goes by when I don't think of all the people who's blood soaks the hands of the President's of this country. I cannot express to you how much I feel for the people I send into the field, and how much I feel for all the people who have been in the field at any time in their life, it's something I couldn't wish on people. In answer to your question, Mr. Pierce, yes, I consider the consequences, and I feel each one as a blow to the gut."  
  
"I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. President. So frequently is this sort of thing taken for granted I begin to wonder if America has any sort of conscience at all. You reassure me. Normally I wouldn't trust a politician as far as I could throw him, which really wouldn't be that far as I have a terrible throwing arm, but I was talking to one of your Senior Staff this morning. He's gave me the faith to believe what you've had to say. He said that you were the real thing, I believe him and I respect you."  
  
""Who was my good advert, then?" The President asked, curious.  
  
"Your invisible Staffer there." Hawkeye said, indicating Sam, as he, Toby and C.J. walked over to the group on the couch. "I spoke to him outside, this morning, before he had to run off to his cheese appointment."  
  
"What were you doing outside, Sam? You were supposed to be helping Toby."  
  
"He threw me out, Leo. And so did C.J. and so did Josh."  
  
"Why'd they throw you out, Sam?"  
  
"No real reason."  
  
"Toby, why'd you throw him out?"  
  
"He said that he enjoyed Big Block of Cheese Day. We all thought that he could do with some fresh air to clear his head."  
  
"This true, Sam?"  
  
"Um."  
  
"You like Big Block of Cheese Day?"  
  
"Excuse me, Sir." Asked Walter 'Radar' O'Reilly. "What's Big Block of Cheese Day?"  
  
Leo explained the history of the occasion for the benefit for the two uninformed vets. adding jubilantly:  
  
"And I finally got a Senior Staff member to appreciate it!"  
  
"What sort of things do you hear about?" O'Reilly enquired further.  
  
"We'll take this opportunity to hear about everyone's day." The President put in excitedly. "Sam, as the advocate, why don't you start?"  
  
"I'm not an advocate, Sir. I've been put right off the whole idea and if I ever have to experience another Big Block of Cheese Day or another brussel sprout ever again, it will be too soon!"  
  
"How come?" asked Radar.  
  
"Well, today I had a guy talking to me about the state of footpaths, some woman who thinks that Barney the purple Dinosaur is corrupting the nation's children and a guy who could talk for over an hour and half on what makes brussel sprouts so great, though what exactly he was talking about, I really don't know."  
  
"Toby?"  
  
"Well, I had an agnostic who wanted religion respected by the government, without offending atheists, and someone else who wanted to put a protection order on grass. It's insane, Leo, it really is."  
  
"C.J.?"  
  
"I had a gut who wants to make human robots by bugging people's brains. Then I had two women who wanted to change the number of months in the year so they all had the same number of days because it was unfair that some had more than others."  
  
"What about leap years?" asked Sam.  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"Josh?" prompted Leo. From Josh's end of the couch there came the sound of steady breathing and a whistling snore, as Josh lay with his head tipped back and his mouth open, fast asleep and completely oblivious of his audience.  
  
"I don't believe it! Josh actually fell asleep in the Oval Office!" mused the President. "I really should have a word with him about that, though I think I'll let him sleep first."  
  
"I wonder what it was that tipped him over the edge, the stick insects or the platypi?"  
  
"Platypuses." Mumbled Josh.  
  
"Whatever." Said Leo. They all laughed.  
  
"Sounds like Big Block of Cheese Day was as big a success as ever." Leo nodded, proud of the day's work. "Here's to Andrew Jackson!" 


End file.
